


Long Time, No See

by ellbie



Series: Drinking Buddies [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anathema is single, Crowley and Anathema Device are Friends (Good Omens), F/F, M/M, Queer Anathema Device
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21636433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellbie/pseuds/ellbie
Summary: Anathema sweated through the awkward silence, pretending to scan the menu as she watched Ashley out of the corner of her eye.Mercifully, Ashley asked how they’d all met.The break in the ice sounded off like a starting pistol, and the group immediately and eagerly raced forward, only to tumble over each other right out of the gate.“Well, it’s a funny story, you see-”“Pub.”“Book club!”The woman eyed Aziraphale, Crowley, and Anathema as they glanced nervously at each other before looking back at her with matching, forced smiles. She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Right…”
Relationships: Anathema Device & Original Female Character(s), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Drinking Buddies [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1522610
Comments: 52
Kudos: 137
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations, Ixnael’s SFW corner





	1. Chapter 1

It was 3:14. It had been 3:14 for what felt like hours. 

Anathema was standing near the front door of the bookshop with a wool coat draped over her arm. She’d been staring anxiously out into the street, smoothing her hands over the nonexistent wrinkles at the waistline of her skirt for the hundredth time. At 3: _15_ she was supposed to start walking to the pub to meet Ashley, but, as her phone had reminded her the last four times she checked, it was still only 3:14.

She groaned miserably and was about to ask if Aziraphale was _sure_ he hadn't accidentally done something that would've stopped time, but the increased pace of her foot tapping signaled another interruption and he swooped in before she got the chance. 

“Are you heading out soon, my dear?” He didn’t bother looking up from his book. All the fidgeting and sighing had been whittling away at his Heavenly patience, especially since, an hour earlier, Aziraphale had watched desperately after Crowley as the fiend climbed the stairs toward the bedroom, making his escape by feigning the need to sleep. Aziraphale wondered resentfully if he could convince the witch that he had also picked up the habit of napping and was similarly due for a quick snooze.

“Yes. Yes, I think I’m just going to leave now.” But she didn't move. Instead she fixed her dark eyes on the door. Her jaw clenched. “Ok. Yes. I can do this.”

Aziraphale did look up this time. If Anathema lost her nerve now, he might never get to finish this chapter. “You’ll be fine, dear," he said with an encouraging smile. “And you look absolutely lovely! I can’t wait to hear all about your date.” He lowered his voice so that she couldn't hear and added, "Maybe next week you can tell us all about it."

She chose not to nitpick at the word “date” again, and instead looked down uncertainly at her long, teal skirt and black, ruffled top. “Ugh. You’re just saying that.”

Aziraphale was surprised it didn't take a miracle to keep his smile from faltering. Even angels had their limits. 

“Whatever it takes to get you out the door so you’re not late to meet Ashley,” he said through a forced grin, tapping the top of his wrist like he would a watch.

Anathema looked down at her phone.

3:16.

_Shit._

She ran out the door, causing the bell to ring out with an excited jingle.

Alerted by the sound, Crowley poked his head out over the railing. “Is she gone?”

“I’m happy to say she is,” Aziraphale said and turned a page.

“Finally,” the demon groaned and sauntered down to the ground floor. “If I had to ' _miracle the frizz'_ out of her hair one more time, I would've marched straight to the church and requested a speedy Baptism.” He sidled up to the front of the counter, opposite where Aziraphale sat, and leaned forward on his elbows to eye what the angel was reading.

Aziraphale pursed his lips and neatly arched an eyebrow without taking his eyes off the text. “Now, now, love. Don’t you think that’s a bit overdramatic?”

Crowley stammered, his mouth forming around a variety of sounds of which none were actual words. He was keenly aware of how many times Aziraphale had used this new term of endearment in the last two weeks, so it didn’t escape his notice that the frequency had increased as of late. Perhaps the angel just liked seeing him blush. Crowley of all people wouldn't put it past the bastard.

Aziraphale glanced up slyly and watched with twinkling eyes as the demon struggled to tamp down the bashful smile that was playing over his lips. It’s not like he needed to see his expression to sense the affection bubbling off of Crowley like the delicate fizz of champagne.

Crowley's head had sunk down to avoid the angel's fond gaze. "Still think you want to go to the Ritz tonight?" he asked, voice cracking.

Aziraphale smiled warmly, wanting to hold on to the scene for a moment longer before he agreed to let Crowley change the subject. "I think that would be quite lovely. We haven't been to the Ritz in ages."

"We were just there last week," Crowley reminded him. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and scrolled idley through an app.

"Was it really just last week? It feels like it's been months." The angel pouted when he realized Crowley was intently focused on the device. "What are you doing?"

"Hmm?" Crowley looked up from the screen where he'd been absentmindedly scrolling. "Oh, I was just looking at photos of the ex-roommate." He dragged his thumb over the phone screen a few more times. "She's cute," he admitted. "I can see why Anathema's interested."

Crowley figured this would be an easy way to distract Aziraphale from trying to torture him with affection, and sure enough, the angel made grabby hands at the demon's phone like a magpie spying something shiny. Crowley responded by leaning away. Aziraphale whined.

"No, angel. You're terrible with phones. I don't want you to accidentally 'like' any of her photos."

"How does one accidentally enjoy a photograph?"

"Not 'enjoy', _'like.’_ It's a social media thing." He waved his hand dismissively, knowing full-well that most of the technical inner workings of social media platforms were a mystery even to himself, although he took as much credit for them over the last decade as Hell would give him.

Crowley flipped the phone around and held it up in front of Aziraphale's face. "That's her." 

"Oh, my." Aziraphale eyed the photo of the pretty blonde. "She _is_ quite pretty." He reached for the phone and let out another frustrated sigh when Crowley snatched it back out of reach.

"No touching," he tutted. "Get your own Instagram account."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, then asked hopefully, "Do you really think they'll come to dinner tonight?"

"If all goes well, sure. But Anathema's been panicking about this date for weeks now. I can't imagine she's going to be acting casually about the whole thing." Crowley thought for a moment. "S’pose I could sneak over there and do a little tempting to move things along.”

Aziraphale blanched. " _Crowley._ Absolutely not. What a terrible thing to even suggest."

Crowley rolled his shoulders lazily. "What? Nothing wrong with a little bit of Lust on a fine Saturday afternoon. Haven’t seen God really get Her knickers in a twist over that sort of thing since Soddom and Gomorrah.” He tossed Aziraphale a devilish grin.

"Oh, stop being ridiculous, Crowley," Aziraphale said, his eyes glancing upward nervously. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk about the Almighty like that while you're here. You're just asking for trouble."

" _Psh_ , Aziraphale, really? I think we're long past being anything more than an annoying blip on Heaven's radar. They've agreed to leave us alone."

"Be that as it may, I don't think it's worth pushing our luck."

Crowley pouted a bit, and shrugged again. "Whatever you say, angel. But I'm texting Anathema now and telling her dinner's at seven."

Aziraphale immediately forgot about Crowley's blaspheming and wiggled excitedly in his seat. "Well, wouldn't that just be lovely if they came out. Aside from Newt, we're not privy to any of Anathema's love interests. I bet Ashley is fascinating."

"Because Newt was such an interesting person?” the demon asked sarcastically. “The man was a complete drip."

"Crowley, don't be rude." Aziraphale clucked his tongue disapprovingly.

"'M a demon, angel," he flashed a sharp smile. "That's kinda my thing."

An indignant blush tinted the angel's face. "Hardly. You're far too n-" He'd been about to say 'nice,' but Crowley's eyebrow shooting skyward in an “I dare you” sort of way indicated that perhaps he shouldn't. "You're not a rude person." 

Crowley smirked and sauntered back toward the desk where the angel was sitting, hips swaying with each step. Aziraphale swallowed, never quite prepared to have the billowing statements of Love that he lobbed Crowley’s way snatched out of the air; pressed and twisted; and thrust back as sleek, glossy Lust. He was a demon, after all. He tempted and sauntered and flirted. He vamped and teased and poked at Aziraphale's sensibilities, feeding off every blush and every "Good _Lord”_ muttered with quiet embarrassment. Even though angels and demons are of the same original stock, it was times like these when Aziraphale felt like they were very much two distinct species. But that's not to say that he _minded_ the way Crowley toyed with him...

"How kind of you to say, angel,” he drawled, pretending that he couldn’t feel Aziraphale’s eyes on him as he flicked his wrist. His coat sleeve pulled back and he looked at his watch. Aziraphale noticed Crowley's gentle sway when their eyes met again, and they smiled at each other. 

"What d'you want to do until dinner?"

Aziraphale considered his options for a moment, and then, to Crowley’s dismay, he glanced back down at his book. “Well, I _have_ been trying to finish this chapter all afternoon…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My headcanon diverges from book canon a bit: I'm writing Anathema as if she's at least 25, not 19-20.

Anathema squinted around the Enterprise and waited for her eyes to adjust from the bright, greyish outside light to the dark, sleepy browns and greens of the pub. Eventually her vision sharpened and settled on Ashley, who had just started to sit down at the far end of the bar. Her stomach twisted, and she briefly considered backing up, turning on her heel, and speed-walking straight back to the bookshop. 

Watching Ashley from behind, it was difficult to see if she’d changed much since college. Her hair was definitely a bit longer than it had been, tumbling in blonde waves just past her shoulders. Before she got too lost in a memory of how soft that hair had been under her finger tips, Anathema made a mental note to murder Crowley for having gotten her into this mess in the first place. 

Her life had been going along just _fine_ , after all. Sure, her only friends in the entire country were a foppish angel and a moody demon, she was pestered near weekly by her mother about when she'd be returning home, and she was definitely overdue for a visit to the doctor (Aziraphale had offered to make her healthy again with a snap of his fingers, but she knew her constant fatigue was just a long-running cold. And being miraculously healed by a friend lacked the clinical, detached nature that she appreciated from doctors), but at least two of those three problems were fairly common among most 20-something-year-olds these days.

She'd been _adjusting._

But now she found herself staring at the back of a woman she hadn't seen in years, knowing full-well that it'd been _Ashley_ who invited _her_ out for drinks _,_ and yet she found herself feeling inexplicably self-conscious. Maybe part of that hang up was due to the fact that Crowley had used some sort of demonic intervention to disrupt Ashley’s dreams so that she’d be inspired to reach out in the first place. But that same demon had also miracled Anathema’s eyeliner so that it was perfectly even and wouldn't smudge, and even if the lines _were_ a little heavy for her liking -- “Shall I fetch your notebook and tell you about every time I ever painted kohl on a pharaoh? Or would you like to stop whining?” Crowley had snapped at her when she tried to complain -- how evil could someone’s intentions really be if they were willing to do that? Besides, it would be a shame to waste such a dramatic eye on a night of reading old books at the bookshop.

_Right. Here we go._

“Ash?” the witch called out timidly as she approached the bar.

The woman spun around in her seat. “Oh. My. God,” she said, clasping her hands over her mouth. “Ana! I can’t believe you came out! It’s so good to see you.”

She _oofed_ as Ashley pulled her into a tight, warm hug.

Anathema often wondered if the woman had been adopted by the West Coast bankers that introduced themselves as her parents, and was perhaps related by blood to a couple of kindly Midwesterners, from where she would have inherited her penchant for earnest greetings.

“Drinks here are on me,” she added with a smile as she separated herself from the witch, leaving Anathema in a cloud of lavender shampoo scent. They both sat. “This place is rad, by the way.” Ashley said, looking around appreciatively at the warm, dark oak that formed the room. "Also, I may have already ordered a beer," she admitted with a wince, indicating the bartender that was walking their way with a glass full of a dark, frothy stout. "Sorry I didn't wait."

Anathema recognized the bartender from the last time she was here with Crowley. That had to be a good sign. Or did it? Was the demon setting all of this up? 

"I'll have the same," Anathema said with a tight smile as the bartender looked at her expectantly.

Once they’d both been served and had clinked their glasses together, Ashley asked, "So, do you live around here?"

Anathema swallowed a sip of cold beer and carefully wiped the foam off her lip. “No, I’m out in Oxfordshire, actually. A village called Tadfield.”

Ashley scrunched her eyebrows. “How far away is that?”

“An hour or two, depending on if I go by car.”

Ashley brought her palm to her forehead in an exaggerated motion. “Aw, jeeze, Ana. I didn’t know you’d have to make a big trip. I could’ve come out to meet you.”

“No, no! Don’t worry about it,” Anathema hurried to explain. “I have some friends that live in London, so I’m out here all the time anyway.”

"Oh yeah?" Ashley cocked an eyebrow. 

"Yeah. It's really no big deal." Anathema felt her cheeks flame, and she resisted the urge to hide her face in her glass. "What brings you to London?"

The woman’s eyes lit up. "Remember in college when I talked about studying abroad all the time?"

Anathema nodded as she took another sip. She remembered the flutter in her chest when Ashley had preemptively offered Anathema a place to stay and detailed all the things they could do if Anathema had planned to visit her in Europe.

"Well, that was a bust. I ended up dropping out.”

“You _what_?”

“Yep! Couldn’t stand thinking about how much money I was paying so that I could learn how to be an accountant. Eugh, it was like some sort of capitalistic nightmare.” Her eyes glittered. “Very _millennial_ of me, right?”

Anathema smiled and stammered a noise somewhere between a choked out laugh and an actual response.

“The missed opportunity had been bugging me though, so I figured: what the hell? Might as well travel while I'm still young, yeah? Plus, I just got out of a bad breakup, so getting out of California for a bit was too tempting to pass up."

Anathema’s smile slipped as she tried not to think about whether the relationship in question had been with the man her former roommate had chosen over her. "Good for you, Ash!" she said, before realizing how awful it sounded. “Er, not about the breakup, I mean.”

Ashley laughed. "Don’t worry about it," she said good-naturedly. “I’m sure as hell not.” 

There was a pause, and both women sipped their drinks. Anathema’s brain was an unhelpfully blank slate as she tried to think of something worthwhile to add.

Ashley spoke again.

"Anyway, what about you? Why'd you end up out here?"

"Oh, you know, I was always… itching to travel a bit too, I guess. My family… well, they always encouraged it." All those years ago, she’d imagined the consequences of throwing a wrench in the Device family’s perfectly crafted plan and running off with Ashley in a direction completely opposite of her destiny.

 _Death would’ve been highly likely,_ she thought grimly.

"So you just... up and flew to London?" Ashley's eyebrow was raised in a perfect arch above her glass as she sipped.

"Pretty much," Anathema laughed nervously. "My mom's going to kill me if I don't make plans to come home soon, though."

"Do you think you will go home?"

Considering how she’d never been forced to make any large life decisions on her own up until this point in her life, Anathema figured it was fair to answer the question with the same frustratingly non-committal answer that likely had her mother tearing her hair out after each of their regular phone conversations. "I'm not sure yet, actually. I mean, I miss her. Obviously. But I have friends out here now. And a new life."

Ashley hummed happily. "That sounds nice. And what are you doing for work these days, Ana?"

Anathema choked. "Well. Um. This is actually a little embarrassing."

The blonde tipped her head to the side with a sly smile, and reached up to tuck some wavy locks back behind her ear from where they had fallen.

"Well," Anathema continued, "I don't exactly _have_ a job. I had one for a few days after I came out here, but I… quit.” If saving the world didn’t count as a job, then she didn’t know what did. “And I never really bothered looking for another one." 

Ashley smiled broadly. "So you’re… what? Just out here, living it up, on some big, long, awesome vacation?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it _that_ way," Anathema responded, blushing. "I had... erh... my _family_ had quite a bit in savings for me. It was supposed to be a gift so that I could travel and... uh...see the world. I don't think they expected I'd be able to get this much mileage out of it. I mean, my rent in Tadfield is pennies compared to what I'd be paying in Malibu." Anathema neglected to mention that she was also spoiled rotten by a certain angel who would never dream of letting her go hungry, and a certain demon who thought eating was boring unless one was getting properly drunk on good wine during the process.

Anathema didn't like thinking about how much money she came from, especially since it wasn't money she'd earned for herself. Really, no one in her family had technically “earned” it, unless you counted decoding the treasure maps hidden Agnes’s prophecies. Each resulting windfall ensured that the family would be well provided for so that Anathema could be there to avert Armageddon, and now what did she have to show for it? A seemingly endless savings account, a burnt pile of ash that was Agnes's final manuscript, and a tiny, lonely cottage about an hour outside of London.

"That is _amazing_ , Ana. I’m very jealous."

Anathema blushed. "Ah, don't be. I get a little homesick out here sometimes."

"Sure, but that's normal. Just means you're human," Ashley smiled, and Anathema couldn't help but stare at her lips, which were painted with a pale, rosy gloss.

"What about you, though? Are you working?"

"Unfortunately," Ashley smirked. "I’ve got a job in America, so there’s no way I’d have enough vacation days to make a 3 week trip all about relaxation."

Anathema flustered a bit until she realized that Ashley was joking.

"I'm working at a consultancy. My company sends reps out here quarterly to meet one of our clients in person, and I figured -- with the breakup and all -- I might as well jump on the opportunity when it came knocking. And because I wanted to be a little bit _Eat, Pray, Love_ about it, I figured I’d take an extra week of time off to enjoy the city."

With a sinking feeling, Anathema couldn't help but wonder if Crowley had orchestrated this entire situation as some elaborate means of getting Anathema laid. She really hoped not. 

"Besides," Ashley continued, "It's gotta be more fun to travel when you're single, am I right?"

Anathema laughed ruefully. "Well, it's got its ups-and-downs." She downed the rest of her beer. "Actually, I started dating someone for a few months right after I got out here. Nothing serious. But you're right, sometimes it's nice to just have the freedom to do whatever you want without worrying about what someone else will think."

Ashley's eyes went wide as she smiled. "Hold up, missy. You were _dating_ someone out here? You up and fly to London for a few months and land yourself a babe with an accent?"

Anathema felt heat bubbling up from her stomach to her face as she laughed. "Ok, you are definitely over-exaggerating what it actually was."

Ashley's green eyes flashed mischievously. “Whatever you say.” Then she plucked up a different thread of the conversation. “So you said you’ve got some friends here in London? Didn’t lose them in the breakup?”

Anathema had to laugh at the thought of that. “Not a chance. They never got properly acquainted. They would’ve picked me anyway if they had.”

Ashley guffawed and flagged down the bartender to ask for two more drinks. “‘Atta girl.”

Anathema snuck a peek at her phone, and after reading the text from Crowley, smiled hopefully. “Actually, they’ve invited us for dinner. No pressure if you don’t want to go, but I will say they have expensive tastes. And they will absolutely pay for everything.”

Ashley laughed again. “Oh no, I couldn’t impose.”

Anathema tried to hide her frown.

“I mean, I’d love to meet them,” she continued. “But I can pay for my own dinner.”

Anathema beamed. “Trust me. They wouldn’t allow it.”

“Who are these people?" Ashley asked with an inquisitive smile. "Your sugar daddies?”

The witch snorted. “Actually, they’re more like…” She paused for a moment, trying to imagine the thesaurus entries for “supernatural acquaintances.”

“They’re more like my godfathers.”

“Well, alright then,” Ashley said, raising one of the fresh beers that had been set in front of them. “Never took you for a religious type, though.”

Had Ashley not winked as she made the remark, Anathema might have smirked at the irony. Instead, she choked a mouthful of her drink out onto the bar.


	3. Chapter 3

“This is _really_ fancy, Ana…” Ashley murmured into Anathema’s ear as the hostess led them further into the dining room, past candlelit tables full of crystal fizzing with champagne and delicate silverware clinking against fine china. Whispering couples in evening wear looked up from plates of duck ballotine and veal sweetbread to watch them as they passed, and the pair eyed the meals with nervous, hungry eyes.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Anathema laughed. The show of sangfroid was remarkable considering the state of her internal monologue, which had been playing on a panicked loop: _This is gonna be bad, this is gonna be bad, what was I thinking, we should’ve stayed at the pub, this is gonna be bad..._

And suddenly, it was too late to escape. From a secluded table in the far corner of the dining room, the holier of Anathema’s two “godfathers” was eagerly waving them down.

“Anathema, dear girl,” he said happily, standing up to embrace her when they approached. “So _very_ happy you both could join us.”

Crowley also snaked out of his seat and greeted the witch with a nod.

“And you must be Ashley,” Aziraphale said, extending his hand after he’d released Anathema.

Ashley took it timidly.

“Ash, this is Aziraphale and Crowley,” Anathema said, indicating each of them in turn.

“Old family name,” Aziraphale explained.

“We’ve heard so much about you,” Crowley drawled, flashing a smile.

Anathema shot him what she hoped was an intimidating look as they all took their seats. Unfortunately, she was too distracted by his smirk -- he’d clearly taken her silent warning as a dare -- to realize that she was now seated to Aziraphale’s right, putting Ashley to her right. That meant… 

“I hope you like red, Ashley,” Crowley remarked casually after requesting something from the server that sounded too far too romantic and French to be appropriate, accompanied by a year that would indicate the bottle in question was older than Anathema was.

There was a gentle lilt in Crowley’s voice that she’d never picked up on before, and she watched in absolute horror as Ashley _blushed_ at it.

“Love it, actually,” Ashley answered, smiling back at Anathema, who busy focusing an impressive glare at the shameless flirt sitting across from her.

_I swear to God, Crowley..._

Anathema sweated through an awkward silence, pretending to scan through the menu as she watched her-former-roommate-and-definitely-not-date out of the corner of her eye. 

Mercifully, Ashley asked how they’d all met. 

The break in the ice sounded off like a starting pistol, and the group immediately and eagerly tumbled over each other right out of the gate.

“Well, it’s a funny story, you see-”

“Pub.”

“Book club!”

The woman eyed Aziraphale, Crowley, and Anathema as they glanced nervously at each other before turning back to her with matching, forced smiles. She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Right...” But she seemed to take it in stride. After all, she’d been warned that the pair they were meeting were a little… different. Anathema had made a point to say that the one that “always wears sunglasses, even indoors... ( _Oh-- um, I'm not sure... Something to do with his eyes?_ )” could be a bit difficult until you got to know him. Or until he started drinking. Whichever came first, really. 

Crowley smacked his lips and made a show of downing the tasting sip he was offered when the server returned with the bottle. The young man, equipped to handle the direst of etiquette transgressions, only allowed his eyes to bug out for a moment at the size of the swallow Anathema gulped down once her glass had been poured. To be fair, she didn’t really care how expensive the bottle was. She wasn’t in the mood to savor anything quite yet.

“What did you two get up to this evening?” she choked out after forcing another overzealous mouthful of dry red down her throat.

“Oh, just busy at the bookshop,” Aziraphale said with a smile, happy to turn his attention away from the Crowley’s antics.

“If by _busy_ , you mean that you chased out your only two customers and closed up two hours early so you could read for the rest of the day,” Crowley murmured, leaning toward Ashley as he said it. She chuckled politely.

_Dammit,_ Anathema thought. Definitely too late to request an adjustment to the seating arrangement. She would have to remain painfully _not_ in between Crowley and Ashley and could only hope some sliver of the universe that might still answer prayers would provide an adequate buffer. Crowley must have read her mind because he tilted his head with an impish grin and let his tongue flick out at her. Mortified, she muffled a cough in her napkin.

“That sounds like an awesome day, if you ask me,” Ashley told Aziraphale, blissfully unaware of how Anathema was trying to spare her soul from the agent of evil seated comfortably next to her. Dear God, was his shirt always that low cut?.

The angel's smile brightened at the possibility of being in the presence of another avid reader. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Always with his nose in a book, this one,” Crowley sighed, rolling his eyes, and Aziraphale laughed and patted his forearm, which dangled lazily over the back of his chair.

“I didn’t know you minded so much, my love.” The angel’s eyes twinkled like a road flare.

Crowley’s head immediately jerked forward, snapping straight into Anathema’s line of sight.

_‘My love?’_ she mouthed at him.

_‘Shut. It.’_ he mouthed back as ferociously as was possible while remaining silent.

The witch’s entire face lit up with a smile. “What about you, Crowley?” she goaded, tilting her head to the side to exaggerate her grin. Her voice was as smooth as butter as she watched his face flame as red as his hair. “Did _you_ get up to anything fun?”

If he had glared any harder, she might've evaporated.

“Eh, you know,” he said vaguely, voice suddenly a bit strangled. “The usual.”

Ashley sipped her wine. “This is delicious.”

“Glad you like it,” Crowley said, turning his attention back to her. He let a slow smile spread across his lips. “I still remember the first time I tried it in Paris.”

Anathema was about to interrupt before Ashley got sucked into a tale, but Aziraphale leaned toward her to ask quietly if they’d had a nice time catching up.

She turned to look at him with a startled blink. “Wha- oh, yes.” She heard Ashley giggle and tried to ignore it. “We had a great time,” the witch muttered.

“So anyway, I bump into this one,” -- the demon nodded toward Aziraphale -- “and he’s tripping over himself to invite me to lunch. Loves crepes like you wouldn’t believe, and apparently Paris is the only place to get them.”

“I should hardly take offense at that,” Aziraphale commented as he sipped his wine, pinky finger extended away from the glass.

“Is that how you two met?” Ashley asked with an innocent smile.

“Nah, I’ve known him practically since the beginning of time,” Crowley answered, ignoring the various noises Anathema made as she choked on more wine.

Ashley laughed. “You’re not _that_ old.”

“Clean living.” Crowley flashed another winning smile, and Anathema resisted the urge to kick him under the table.

Sensing a possible lull in the conversation, their waiter glided over to their table to take their orders.

“Oh, we really should start with the oysters,” Aziraphale said with an excited little breath, leaving little room for anyone to disagree, and the man parted again with a small bow, the sound of his feet silenced by plush carpet.

“A little aphrodisiac to start your evening, angel?” Crowley teased, licking his lips after taking another sip of wine.

Aziraphale’s cheeks darkened in the candlelight. “You’re absolutely terrible.” But even as he looked down at the table, it was clear he was smiling. 

Anathema resisted the urge to let her face slam into the table. _You are both over 6000 years old, and you act like damn high schoolers--_

Then Anathema felt Ashley’s cool fingers move over her hand and squeeze lightly. When the witch turned to look at her, Ashley did that lovely, cute winking thing again.

For a brief moment, all the quiet conversations around them faded further into the background. Anathema took a breath and smiled a slow, fond smile. Then a tray of oysters resting in an ice bed was set in front of them, forcing Anathema’s attention away from Ashley’s green eyes. Time restarted. 

Crowley turned up his nose at the shellfish. “Never understood the appeal of these things,” he said, using a fork to poke at at one of the now-empty, opalescent half-shells that Aziraphale had just placed back on the ice.

“When did you suddenly lose your taste for oysters?” Aziraphale asked after he swallowed the mouthful with a hum.

“Lose it..? Angel, I never _had_ a taste for oysters. You practically had to force feed me that one in Rome.”

“You seemed perfectly happy to join me for lunch that day,” Aziraphale sniffed as he dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin.

“I was happy to tag along, yeah. Then I saw what they looked like.” He stuck his tongue out in mock disgust.

Ashley and Anathema snuck each other knowing glances as they each reached for shell.

Aziraphale was incredibly helpful when it came time to decide on entrees. Far better, at least, than Crowley, who seemed content with just his wine. Once the steaming plates of lobster and lamb and dover sole had been placed in front of them (and another bottle of red had been sampled and dispersed amongst the group), Aziraphale looked to Ashley as he smoothed his napkin back over his lap. 

“Will you be in London long?”

“For about 2 more weeks. Then I’m heading back to California.”

“Least you’ll be returning to warmer climes,” Crowley muttered as he glared in the direction of the window where the streetlamps were illuminating the dark chill in warm, golden light. “You’re both from Malibu, right?”

“Yup!” Ashley nodded cheerily. “Grew up near the beach. But I don’t mind experiencing a proper winter now and again.”

“Well that’s rather generous of you,” Aziraphale said with a chuckle. “You know, I don’t remember the last time I was in America. Seems it’s been more of Hell’s domain as of late.”

“I resent that,” Crowley muttered just as Ashley said, “ _Tell_ me about it.”

Then she pushed her chair back delicately. “Excuse me a moment, folks. Just need to run to the restroom.”

Anathema stared after her as she walked away, only turning back around in surprise when she heard Crowley laugh. “What?”

“You’re gawking, Book Girl.”

“I am not.”

“You are too.”

She turned to Aziraphale for help. He finished the last sip of his wine and chuckled.

“She is rather fetching, you have to admit.”

Anathema grimaced and grumbled something into her wine glass that sounded like “hypocrites.”

* * *

Sometimes Anathema wondered if Crowley and Aziraphale’s brand of magic had any special rules. For example, if Aziraphale miracled a slice of cake onto an empty plate (which he wouldn’t do, since it apparently never tastes as good that way), does that mean all the various ingredients that go into that cake vanish from various places in the world, only to reappear instantaneously in London as a complete, perfect looking dessert? Or is it an entirely new piece of cake, springing from nothingness, ignoring all understood laws of physics? 

And when Crowley tossed down a credit card to pay for a restaurant bill that was surely at least £250 per head, was the waiter actually only thinking he was getting paid? Or were the economies of various small countries being minutely affected in order to balance out the effect?

She’d lost the ability to tell if the voice in her head that said ‘ _Best not think about it,’_ sounded more like the Aziraphale or Crowley.

“You sure you don’t want a lift?” the demon flashed that sharp, white smile again, pulling Anathema out of her thoughts.

The witch wasn’t falling for it. ”No thanks,” she said tersely. “We’re just going to walk.”

Aziraphale pulled his coat on. “Well, it was absolutely lovely meeting you Ashley.” He reached out and gave her a light hug, and Anathema smiled when she noticed how Ashley almost melted in his arms. He really was the best at hugs.

When they finally broke apart, Crowley stepped in between the two women, leaned down to peck them each on the cheek, and hovered near Anathema long enough to whisper, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He pulled his glasses down so she wouldn’t miss the furtive wink that left her red-faced and stammering before he pushed the lenses back up his nose and turned to Aziraphale. “Well, angel, can I offer _you_ a lift home?”

“How tempting.” Aziraphale’s lovely smile was they only answer he needed.

Ashley could sense that she and Anathema should let the other couple be on their way. “Come on, Ana,” she said brightly, looping her arm through Anathema’s. “It was so nice meeting both of you, and thank you so, so much for dinner. Maybe I’ll bump into you again before I leave.”

“Oh, we'd love that," Crowley purred. "Wouldn't we, Anathema?”

“ _Alright_ , let’s go,” Anathema tugged Ashley out of the restaurant. “Have a good night, _lovebirds_.” And she led Ashley away from the hotel before Crowley could get another word in.

As soon as they’d rounded the corner and were out of sight, Aziraphale wound his arm through Crowley’s as he’d seen Ashley do. The demon felt all the blood that had been in his face drain to his feet. He suddenly considered whether or not he was capable of fainting.

“Come on, dear. If we don’t leave soon, I'm afraid your car will be completely wallpapered with parking tickets.”

* * *

The walk from the Ritz to Ashley’s hotel was brief but chilly, and Ashley had hugged Anathema’s arm tightly against the cold. Anathema tried not to look disappointed when she let go as they stepped into the elevator.

“That was really fun! I’m glad I got to meet your friends,” she said as they reached her door. “Did you have an OK time? You seemed a little tense there for a bit.”

“Oh? Oh, yeah, of course I did! Sorry. Crowley just knows how to push my buttons sometimes.” 

“Yeah, I could see that,” she laughed. “He seems harmless, though.” The locked clicked open when Ashley waved the keycard in front of the sensor. “Where did you say you met them again?”

Anathema had been just about to answer, when someone who’d been waiting inside the hotel room flipped on the lights.


	4. Chapter 4

Back at the bookshop, a mess of bony limbs sprawled comfortably over a worn sofa. The back of Aziraphale’s head was reflected in the pair of dark glasses that sat discarded on the coffee table, and a pair of uncovered yellow eyes trained on the angel as he fussed over a tea tray.

“Well, that was fun.” The demon tucked one leg under the other to make room as Aziraphale approached.

“Oh, I agree.” A tiny creak escaped the adjusting frame as the angel settled onto the opposite cushion. “What a delightful pair.”

“How much do you want to bet Anathema’s going to owe me one after tonight?”

By design, angels couldn’t smile mischievously. However, a certain Principality’s eyes were known to crinkle with a grin cheeky now and then. Like when he was recounting the time he persuaded a horrified Archangel to miracle him a towel after a botched execution attempt.

“I surely wouldn’t bet against that,” Aziraphale chuckled, those crows feet nearly making Crowley melt. “Although it's hard to say how much of an effect your demonic work actually had. I could sense as soon as they walked into the room how fond they were of each other.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “You could, eh?”

“It was quite difficult to ignore.” He raised the mug to his lips, pausing, eyes closed, to sniff at the delicate citrus notes that floated up with the steam.

Crowley hummed, considering that. He pushed himself up straighter and cleared his throat.

“Mind if I stretch out?”

Aziraphale’s brows scrunched together. “Well, of course-- _oh_!”

Aziraphale lifted his mug out of the way as Crowley twisted his body around unceremoniously, kicking his legs over the armrest and resting his head on the angel’s lap. 

“This alright?”

Aziraphale blinked, then the corner of his lip turned back up into a smile. “As long as you’re comfortable, love. Would you like any tea?”

The wash of a water-blue gaze, framed by delicate, grinning lines, set Crowley’s face aflame. He attempted to smother the blush in Aziraphale’s leg. “Mmhf.”

The angel chuckled. “Let me know if you change your mind.” 

He raised the mug to his lips again, but a faint _bzzz...bzzz...bzzz_ stilled his hand mid-sip.

“Crowley, is that your mobile telephone?”

Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s eyebrows press into his thigh as he rolled his eyes and muttered something into his pant leg.

“I couldn’t quite make that out, dear.”

Crowley grumbled and turned his head to the side. “I said, ‘Whoever it is, it’s not important.’”

Then his phone started buzzing again. 

“Maybe you should answer,” Aziraphale offered.

“Ergh,” he groaned, twisting around so he could fish for the phone in his jacket pocket. He stopped grumbling about telemarketers when he saw he had two missed calls from Anathema. “Satan below, is she this helpless?” He dialed her back, and the call had barely connected before he hissed, “This had better be good, Book Girl.”

“ _Hello, Crowley._ ” 

The voiced oozed thick and heavy out of the phone, and for a moment, Crowley felt glued in place. When he finally jolted up into sitting position, he startled a yelp out of Aziraphale, who almost had his tea knocked to the floor.

“Who is this?”

“ _Oh, I’m disappointed you don’t remember me. I suppose it makes sense though. You rarely reported to Hell._ ” 

Crude oil spilling out of a tanker, thick and dark. That’s what the voice sounded like. Suffocating all the birds and the fish that touched it.

Crowley racked his wine-foggy brain, trying for any clue about the voice on the phone. 

As much as he’d bragged about it, in actuality he hadn’t been well-liked by the other Fallen angels. Sure, he’d been _appreciated_ for all the jobs well done over the millennia, but you never got the sense many demons _liked_ each other. That was sort of the point. Nonetheless he didn’t think he’d done anything to earn himself an enemy, especially since Heaven and Hell had agreed to leave him alone after the whole Armageddon debacle. Goes to show what happens when you put your trust in either lot...

Ignoring the fact that he had no idea who was calling him, he could at least garner the obvious: the owner of the voice knew him from Hell, definitely didn’t sound like a friend, and was calling from Anathema’s phone _._

_Shit._

Crowley stalled for time with several variations of the sound “erh.”

As a general rule, demons tended to shy away from displays of cleverness and imagination. One exception to the rule was an unfortunate demon that tried to tell a joke about avocados to a Duke of Hell. Another exception was the demon Crowley, who considered himself an expert marksman when it came to slinging bullshit.

"Oh, right. Uh… How’s it goin’? Erh…”

The phrase “Or I’ll never talk to you again” shouted through his mind, kicking his brain into gear.

“...Mate?" 

Well, they couldn’t all be winners.

_"Mate?"_ Aziraphale mouthed. The demon felt the angel’s thigh press alongside his as he scooted closer to listen in on the call, concern pulling at his face.

"Been a while.” Crowley held a finger over his lips and flipped the phone to speaker.

" _You're not fooling me, Crowley_ ," the voice oozed, making the demon wince.

"Maybe just give me a hint then?"

There was a pause, then a chuckle. " _I don't think so._ "

Crowley’s lip curled. "Well, if you're not going to tell me who you are,” he snapped impatiently, “at least tell me why you're calling. Haven’t got all night, y’know."

" _I need something from you. And I think you'd be wise to help me._ " Another heavy pause settled on the room. " _Unless you want something to happen to your little human friend._ "

Aziraphale crowded in so close that Crowley felt him tense with worry at every point where their bodies touched. His voice growled low and severe, unrestrained hisses enunciating every few words _,_ "I'm only going to ask you once more, so be very, _very_ careful how you choose to answer: Who are you, and what do you want?"

While he waited for a response, he tried to remember if Anathema had mentioned where she and Ashley were going after dinner. It must’ve been back to Ashley’s hotel... right? But which hotel? They’d walked from the Ritz, so it must’ve been somewhere close by. Or possibly not. Humans could walk pretty far in the cold, couldn’t they? Or was that bears? Bless it, at least when they’d been looking for the Antichrist, they’d found a book with all the answers to these questions. Not that Agnes Nutter made a habit of warning them about the other demons that would pop in at the most inconvenient times...

Crowley shuddered at the memory of Hastur and Ligur barging into his flat. 

The stranger tutted. " _Now, now. I don't think you're in any position to be making demands._ "

Crowley thought about this. "Right.” He smiled and curled his fingers around Aziraphale’s hand. ”S’pose I could be, though."

The voice began to retort, but Crowley and Aziraphale were no longer sitting at the other end of the call.

Instead, they were zipping through the phone line, having been shrunk to an undetectable size by a demon who’d been smart enough to sober himself up mid-phone call.

"Bit of a warning next time would be nice _,"_ Aziraphale gritted as he clutched desperately at Crowley's hand, eyes straining to stay open as they zoomed along. 

Crowley hooted and twirled around to face him. "Ah, where's the fun in that?” he taunted playfully. The scorn diminished slightly from the angel’s face, and Crowley swore he saw the corner of his mouth twitch upward with a pleased smile. Crowley squeezed his hand and turned to face forward again. "Hang on, angel!" he called over his shoulder. "This is our stop!"


	5. Chapter 5

Aziraphale would later compare the end of his and Crowley’s journey through the phone line to what it must feel like being flung through the windshield of the Bentley after a head on collision. Crowley would argue that this wasn’t an accurate comparison because -- what with the way reality organized itself neatly around Crowley’s driving -- the Bentley never _would_ crash head on into anything [1]. Besides, he’d never gotten the Bentley to push speeds anywhere close to the speed of light, so even in the unlikely event of an accidental sudden stop, they wouldn’t get hurt _that_ badly. 

Vintage speedometers have their limits. Radio waves, on the other hand...

The owner of the strange voice had nearly finished saying the word "what" when two supernatural entities slammed into its face, having suddenly erupted out of the receiver of Anathema’s phone.

The stench of sulphur immediately flooded Crowley’s nose, burning his eyes. He was pressed into something -- someone? -- cold and clammy with his sunglasses digging painfully into the side of his face. When he tried to push himself away, he met the resistance of Azirphale’s weight pinning him down.

A muffled cry sounded off to his right, but the current tangle of bodies prevented him from turning his head toward it.

"Bloody _Heaven_ , angel. Gerroff me!" He whipped his hands behind his back, swatting at Aziraphale's sides so that he'd move. 

"Well, maybe if you'd done as I'd said _earlier_ and provided me some advanced _warning,”_ \-- Aziraphale pushed himself up with a grunt and brushed himself off -- “I could've prepared to land more gracefully." The angel huffed and began adjusting his twisted waistcoat.

"You. Graceful. Right." Crowley shoved himself up and silently commanded his rumpled clothes to sort themselves out before hooking his body back over to peer down at the moaning pile of... _someone_ that had crumpled on the floor.

"Oh, good _Lord_. _Anathema!_ Ashley! Are you two young ladies quite alright?"

_Ah, right_ , Crowley thought as he stepped around the king bed to locate the source of the quiet mewling. 

A floor-to-ceiling window spanned almost the entirety of the wall at the opposite end of the hotel room, and heavy gold drapery had been pulled firmly across it. Two French leather chairs sank into high pile carpet, pressed down by the weight of the two terrified human women who were sitting in them. All attempts at escaping had clearly been thwarted by the course ropes that bound their wrists and ankles to the exposed wood frames. Tears had dried on their cheeks after being sopped up by the cloth rags that were tied around their mouths, but their eyes still managed to scream silently at Aziraphale and Crowley, despite the gags.

"Don't even think about it, _angel,"_ a voice spat from the middle of the floor, and Crowley’s hackles rose protectively.

Aziraphale stopped mid-motion, hand outstretched toward the women to wave the bonds away. His eyes flitted nervously between the new demon and the one he’d known for ages, looking for some indication of whether or not the strange presence was actually a threat.

"You. Shut up," Crowley warned the smelly heap on the floor. He turned back to Anathema and raised an eyebrow. "Wow, Book Girl. Never took you for the bondage type."

Anathema's brows furrowed low in a testy glare as her mouth worked around the gag. " _Fphk euw_.”

"Sorry, couldn't quite catch that." He tossed his gaze casually back down at the greyish pile that had begun sorting itself into greyish limbs. As it attempting to stand, Crowley reared back and kicked it _hard_ in what he hoped was its stomach or some other soft, vulnerable spot. The thing groaned and collapsed back onto the floor. "Alright, Aziraphale. Untie them."

Suddenly, a scream tore through the room. Even dampened by the gag, the sound was enough to wrench Crowley around and force the blood out of his face. Anathema fought against her restraints, twisting and straining to get away from whatever invisible force was hurting her _very_ badly.

"I said _don't,"_ the abductor growled. It waved its fingers and Anathema went silent, slumping forward. Heaving shoulders at least indicated she was still alive.

Crowley wheeled back around to face the thing that was now pushing itself up to its feet. It wasn't as tall as Crowley, so it had to throw its head uncomfortably far back to stare down its nose at the taller demon. 

"You are going to _seriously_ regret whatever you just did," Crowley hissed, sizing the other demon up. It was about the same height and build as Aziraphale, but if Aziraphale had been dredged through rancid cooking oil and left to spoil in the sun and rain for a few weeks. Palid limbs poked out of a filthy, torn coat, and its eyes swam through a greyish film. Like those of a day-old corpse.

"Uh uh uh," the grey thing said, wagging its finger back and forth. "I already told you: do what I ask, and they won't get hurt."

Crowley looked back anxiously at Anathema. She was trembling slightly but had the grey demon targeted with a hateful glare. _Thatta witch,_ Crowley thought. Ashley hadn’t taken her eyes off Anathema, and muffled sounds escaped around the cloth stuffed in her mouth as she tried to reach out to her, straining against the ropes on her wrists. Aziraphale was just beyond reach, frozen in place while he waited to see what this _thing_ did next.

Crowley threw his arms up in the air in frustration. "Well, let's hear it then. What do you want from us?"

" _Us?_ " The grey thing laughed ruefully. "What do you think I could possibly want from an _angel_ and a couple of filthy _humans._ "

"Rude," Aziraphale muttered.

Crowley eyed this stranger up and down, pausing to grimace at the greasy stain that was spreading from its feet out into the dusty rose carpet.

"What I want from _you,_ demon Crowley, is to tell me how you survived your execution.” 

Crowley gaped. "Uh... erh... wait.” He looked back at Aziraphale. “...Eh?” The angel just shrugged at him unhelpfully. Crowley turned back to the other demon and narrowed his eyes. "Hell was supposed to leave me alone after all..." -- he waved his hand around in the air vaguely -- "...that."

"I wasn't sent on Hell's behalf." Its smirk revealed two rows of decaying teeth. "I came to find you on my own."

Crowley _tsk_ ed. "Can’t imagine Lord Beelzebub would be happy to find that out."

The grey thing's eyes narrowed in return. "And they won't find out," -- it jerked its chin to point at where Ashley and Anathema were tied up -- "or these two might find their way back down there with me." It returned its gaze to Crowley. "Now, are you going to help me?"

"Help you? Help you _what_ exactly?" Crowley hadn't seen hide nor hair (nor fang nor fly) of another demon in roughly 7 months, and he’d been quite happy about that. He figured he’d at least have another few years before having to reset his “Days Since Last Threatened With Bodily Harm By Agents of Hell” counter back to zero.

That’s what hoping gets you.

"I already told you: I want to know how you survived the holy water." The other demon stared at him dangerously, daring him to make the wrong move. Crowley noticed its arm was slightly raised, and he felt goosebumps prickle across body. Ashley whimpered quietly.

"I... erh... It's not something I can teach you how to do." He caught himself before he looked back at Aziraphale again.

The other demon’s eyes narrowed further, and its hand raised ever so slightly higher. A drip of oily sheen fell from the tip of one of its fingers, darkening the carpet where it landed with a soft _pat_. Crowley half expected a slug to crawl out of the damp spot. 

The cleaning service was definitely going to have some questions when they stopped in next to turn down the bed.

"Alright, alright!" Crowley stammered quickly, holding his palms up. "Listen, I'm telling the truth, OK. You think I'd lie in front of an angel?"

The grey demon sneered at Aziraphale for a moment before pointing its milky eyes back at Crowley. "I know you're keeping a secret. I've been going through the human's notes about you."

Crowley's eyebrow arched and he risked a glance back to where Anathema sat. A wide-eyed horror was dawning on her face.

_The notebook._

"I was hoping that by now you would've told her what your trick was. There's never been a demon in history that's survived holy water... until you."

" _Listen_. I'm telling you. It wasn't a trick. I just... had friends in high places," he finished lamely. Then Crowley thought for a moment. "Wait... you've been reading her notebook? How did you get near her without me or the angel noticing?"

Another flash of those rotting teeth through a smirk. "Who said you were around when I was with her?"

Crowley started to smile. Sometimes it was refreshing to see another demon attempting to be clever. Not too many of them were good at it. 

"You were in her house in Tadfield." 

Anathema made some more muffled noises behind him.

The other demon tipped its head. "Too bad you never went in to make sure she was safe. Well... not too bad for _me,_ I suppose."

"Sure about that, mate?" 

Before it could respond, Crowley snapped his fingers, and the other demon froze with its mouth slightly open, ready to speak, and its fingers still extending out toward Anathema.

A long _whoosh_ signaled that Aziraphale had started to breathe again. With a snap of his fingers, the ropes and cloth gags fell away from the two women's bodies. Anathema was first to jump out of the seat, and she pulled Aziraphale into a tight hug. Her fingers buried themselves deep into the fabric of his coat, but, considering all the times he’d been roughly grabbed while wearing that particular coat, he didn’t think to mention the wrinkles.

"It was waiting for us here when we got back," she said shakily. “We barely got into the room before it tied us up and stole my phone.”

While Aziraphale patted her hair and repeated a gentle mantra of “there, there,” Crowley knelt down next to where Ashley had slid out of her seat. Her limbs puddled around her until Crowley reached out a hand to help her off the floor. In response, she snapped into a small, rigid shape, using her arms to draw her knees tight against her chest and pulling as far away from him as the chair at her back would allow.

"What _are_ you?" she whispered as he jerked his hand away. The greens of her eyes were nearly flying out from her red-rimmed lids as she scanned his face.

Crowley pulled his sunglasses down to reveal his yellow irises and slit pupils. That was usually the quickest way to get the whole "angels and demons; Heaven and Hell; and yes, the Earth really _is_ only 6000 years old, I was there when it opened for business; etc, etc"-bit out of the way.

“Demon," he said, pointing to himself. Then he jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Aziraphale. "Angel.” Finally, he pointed at Anathema. “And a witch. She met us at the End of the World." 

Ashley's trembling lessened as her eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you."

"Oi! A smelly, grey blob was holding you hostage in your hotel room, and _I_ get the scrutinizing glare?” He pushed his sunglasses back over his eyes. “Bloody Americans." Then, tentatively, he held out his hand once more. "You'll feel better once you get off the floor."

Unsurprisingly, she did.

Anathema extricated herself from Aziraphale's arms and turned around to grab Ashley by the shoulders. "Ash, I am so, so sorry. This is my fault." The tears started flowing in earnest, and the witch began babbling “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” over and over.

Ashley embraced her tightly. "Shut up. Don't say that. You didn't mean for this to happen, and you know it."

Anathema wrapped her arms around Ashley's back and held her close, trying to blink back the tears that were falling into those blonde waves.

"She's right, my dear,” Aziraphale said soothingly. “This was not at all your fault. One of Crowley's old colleagues must have had a bone to pick."

They all turned to look at Crowley, who was slowly circling the other demon which stood completely motionless in the middle of the room, except for the lights dancing off it’s odd, greasy sheen. It was like a toddler had attempted to mold the likeness of a person in clay and then dipped the resulting form in snot.

"What did you do to it?" Anathema asked Crowley breathlessly.

"Temporarily froze it," Crowley responded as he bobbed his head back and forward, attempting to inspect it from all angles. He was beginning to look more like a gangly bird than a snake. 

"Crowley, how were you able to do that?” Aziraphale asked. “To another demon, I mean. Surely it would've been able to counter it."

"Maybe. If it hadn't been vacationing at Book Girl’s house for who knows how long." Crowley turned to face his audience and looked annoyed when they all stared back at him, slack-jawed. "The horseshoe above the door?" he said as if he was hinting at the most obvious thing in the world. 

Aziraphale glanced at the witch, who shrugged at him. He shook his head, confused. 

Crowley rolled his eyes. "The cottage is protected by a ward. Stings something awful when you walk under it. It must've been exhausting stowing away there for so long." Crowley lifted his shoulders with a sigh and let them drop. "Anathema, didn’t you say you’ve been feeling tired for a while now?"

Anathema's mouth fell open further. "Oh, no."

"It's been weeks, hasn't it? Could've been longer. This -- bless it, I don't remember its name. Or its face, to be honest. Anyway, it couldn’t possess you or we’d know as soon as you came into the bookshop. Must’ve just hung around the cottage until it decided to make a move.”

Crowley rubbed his chin, and said almost sympathetically, “I can barely stand in a church for more than a few minutes. Can't imagine what life as your flatmate for the last few weeks would've been like." Crowley turned back at the other demon in the room. "Wonder if that's why it looks so" - Crowley gestured his hands vaguely around the mass of glistening, grey flesh - "....corpsey." 

Anathema’s face went pale, and she brought her hand to her forehead. Ashley gently wrapped her arm around her waist to support her. Aziraphale took her by the other elbow and guided her a few steps back until she was seated on the edge of the bed.

"So you're saying I've been living with that _thing_ in my house, and it's the reason I’ve been sick. And I didn't even know?"

"Well, by the looks of it…” Crowley rubbed the back of his neck. “Yep. Although just being around us is generally fine. I’m not sure what it was doing to you while you were home--” 

"I’ve been having the same dream, over and over.” She interrupted suddenly, staring down at her knees. “Every night, I’ve been dreaming about the four of us at dinner. It feels like I never get enough sleep.” She peered up at him with watery eyes. “Is that what demons _do?_ " 

He winced at that and watched from a distance as Aziraphale laid a hand gently on her shoulder. "Anathema, we are truly sorry that this happened to you, but Crowley wouldn’t...”

Anathema shook her head. "No. It’s not your fault." She glared at the grey demon. "It's... that _thing's_ fault." She stood up from the bed and frowned at the mass standing in the middle of the room. "Unfreeze it. I want to talk to it."

* * *

1. Anathema would try to retort here, but Crowley would ignore her. Much in the same way she ignored a car driving innocently through the woods before plowing her bike into it.


	6. Chapter 6

Crowley glanced uneasily at Anathema. “Not sure that's a good idea, Book Girl. You and Ashley should just go with Aziraphale back to the bookshop. You'll be safe there.” He turned to the intruder, still standing motionless in the middle of the room, and added, “I'll join you once I've finished up with this." 

Anathema shook her head. "No. I want to know exactly why it did what it did and if it's going to happen again."

Crowley opened his mouth to protest, held it there for a moment, then clicked it shut. “Fine.” He waved his hand.

"Crowley, you mustn't—" Aziraphale shrilled, but it was too late.

The other demon's mouth started to move, letting out a pained whine when it realized it's limbs were still frozen in place. " _LET ME GO, YOU TRAITOR,_ " it bellowed, and Crowley snapped his fingers, miracling their room soundproof.

"Not until you answer my friend's questions. ‘N while you're at it,” — Crowley’s lips curled up viciously —“I've got a few of my own." 

It’s been established that demons have a good memory for faces. How else would Crowley, at the drop of a hat, have recognized Mary Hodges (formerly Sister Mary Loquacious) eleven years after their first brief meeting? It’s also fair to say that this new demon’s face could have easily blended in with the any of Hell’s numerous burst pipes spilling dark sludge onto the floors, but Crowley knew he would’ve recognized it if they’d ever met before. He dredged through dim memories of Down Below: masses of listless demons pressing through dank hallways, dull eyes roving over grey walls, slack mouths uttering nary a “wahoo” at one of his presentations.

He came up empty. Any other time he may have been flattered, might have let it go to his head that someone he didn’t know actually knew of him. This time, however, the situation disconcerted him.

Crowley squinted. “Who are you?”

The grey demon spat and thrashed around at the neck, struggling to break free of the magic that restrained it. 

Crowley watched it flounder for a bit before offering mildly, "Maybe if you help us out, I'll unfreeze you.”

The flailing stopped and something like hope flashed over the other demon’s face for a split second before it vanished. It was quiet for a moment before saying, "I don't trust you."

"Since when do demons trust each other?"

The grey demon's eyes narrowed. "You're not a demon, you're a _traitor_. And you survived holy water. Our kind can’t do that. What _are_ you? And how did you become" -- milky, grey eyes slid up and down Crowley's form -- "this?"

Crowley considered the intruder, tipping his head from side to side until the beginning of a hunch shook loose and floated up to the top of his brain. "Were you at my trial?" Not that Crowley would've remembered, of course, because Crowley hadn't even been there. “Is that why you're after me?"

"No. I wasn't,” it spat. “ _No one_ from your trial is left." Then it’s voice lowered. "Except Lord Beelzebub, Lord Dagon, and Duke Hastur." 

Crowley raised an eyebrow and waited for the other demon to continue. "Go on, erh... Look, will you just tell me your name already?"

The demon paused, weighing its options. "Raim," it hissed.

"Got it. Raim. Right, so... all the other demons that _had_ been there..." 

Aziraphale had told him it'd been a rather large room on the other side of the glass, but it was too dark to tell how many demons had jammed in there to be a part of the jury that sentenced Crowley to extinction. The angel’s eyes had lowered as he skimmed over the details of how many voices took part in the depraved chorus screaming, “ _Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!”_

Not that Crowley had any hard feelings. That sort of thing was to be expected among the denizens of Hell. "What happened to them?"

"They said that you boiled away,” Raim continued as if it weren’t listening. “Boiled away to nothing and then rose like a phoenix out of that foul holy water." 

Crowley snickered, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

"I'm not entirely sure if we should believe that's what happened," the angel said, annoyed.

" _Quiet, angel,"_ Raim hissed.

"Oi!" Crowley bridled. "Now let's assume I did dissolve into a puddle," -- He knew he hadn't -- "and let's assume I then popped right back into existence.” His fingers fanned out in a starburst to illustrate the point. “Why are you coming ‘round asking about it?"

Raim glared at him. “I didn’t witness your trial, but I saw the aftermath. The jury came running out of the room, panicking and screaming about how you were tossing holy water around like it was nothing, how Hastur killed the usher, how an Archangel had been present.” The cloudy film over its eyes swirled like milk purling through dark tea. “Then they were all called back. I stayed outside. I heard the screams. Beelzebub must’ve had the Archangel flush the room with the rest of the holy water, because they were just…” Raim’s face fell. “...gone.” It attempted to harden its expression into a glare again, but a deep sadness had settled over it. “Someone important to me was in that room, and she doesn’t exist anymore because what she witnessed made her a threat to the order.”

A pang of genuine sympathy pressed on Crowley’s chest. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that," he said, "but it's not my fault your friend died."

"She wasn't my _friend_ ,” the demon spat. “She was my _sister_. Had been since before we Fell."

Aziraphale approached Raim with his chin up, glaring down at its mostly-frozen body. The demon growled at him and tried to pull away. "I don't trust it, Crowley." It let out an angry, gurgling hiss, and Aziraphale met its eyes. "Since when do demons fight for justice? Or love?" 

Crowley cleared his throat awkwardly, and Aziraphale looked up at him, blue eyes widening to oceans. 

“Oh. _Oh_! Oh, my dear, I didn’t mean... I'm terribly sorry. I wasn't thinking."

Crowley sniffed. "’Course not." He didn’t meet Aziraphale’s gaze. "Since when do angels think before they talk?"

Aziraphale puffed up at that. "Now that was entirely uncalled for."

"You _just_ said I was incapable of understanding justice and love."

”I didn’t mean _you,_ specifically _._ And I apologized."

Crowley threw his arms up in the air. "Oh! Alright! He _apologized,_ everyone. I guess we're square. And if that’s the case--"

The bickering continued with Anathema watching them for a bit in disbelief. She glanced awkwardly at Ashley. Then both women looked at Raim, who probably would've offered a helpless shrug if not for being partially frozen. Somewhere, a former Satanic nun wondered vaguely if there was a moment she should break up.

"Well, what about that time you insulted my outfit in Paris?" Aziraphale cried out.

"Are you..? OK! First off, you looked ridiculous, and I'm _glad_ you got arrested." Aziraphale gasped. "And second, that _in no way_ is the same as you saying I'm _incapable of lov-"_

Anathema cleared her throat politely. "Can you two maybe continue this conversation in private?" The angel and one of the demons both flushed brilliantly, and Aziraphale’s mouth, which had still been open in an astonished “O” shape, snapped shut. Anathema returned her attention to Raim. "So you're the reason I've been so exhausted lately. How long have you been hiding in my home?"

Raim bared its rotting teeth at her. "Who says I need to answer to you, _human._ " It practically gagged the word out.

" _I_ do,” Crowley said, collecting himself. “Answer whatever she asks." 

"You're worse than a traitor," Raim spat as it crained its neck back around toward Crowley. "Surely you remember what it was like knowing these filthy animals were awarded all of God's favor. They were granted Free Will and infinite love and a million second chances while we were cast out. We _Fell._ If we weren’t so hated, God and the rest of the angels would’ve forgotten about us by now.” It stopped straining its gaze Crowley’s way and let its eyes, full of disgust, fall back on Anathema. “She made us to serve Her then left us to burn so she could watch her little humans destroy the home She built for them.”

"Listen, I've been on this planet for a long time,” Crowley said. “God doesn't love any of us unconditionally. She wiped out an entire continent of humans with a flood. She nearly let the whole world end in flame."

" _And you stopped it_. Why?"

"Because this planet is..." Crowley gestured around the room, his hand painting over two human women, one trembling quietly and the other glaring, and a rather put out angel, and metaphorically every tree, bird, bat, bug, fish, dolphin, mammal, human, duck, restaurant, park, bookshop, and vintage car that existed beyond the walls of the hotel, buoyed up by the firmament as they swam and flew and grew and herded and housed across the face of a rock that not enough people seemed to care anything about. But if Crowley were to ruminate on that fact any longer, he might start to feel sentimental, which was not a good look for a demon. Even a retired one.

“It’s worth protecting,” he finally said.

Raim gurgled again. "You're a _traitor,"_ it seethed. "You're prancing around with an angel, fraternizing with humans... You used to be a legend in Hell. What happened to you?"

"Nothing," Crowley said darkly, pulling his glasses down to the effect of boring the meaning of his words directly into Raim's corporeal brain. "Wouldn't expect Hell to understand the potential of this place." Crowley sucked his teeth bitterly. "Our lot was always too busy plotting to overthrow God and Her angels. With a little imagination, I think Lucifer really could've had something going, but just like all the rest of those dolts" - Raim winced and glanced downward - "the legions of the damned, the Archangels, the bloody Almighty…” — Aziraphale winced and glanced upward — "All of them were so focused on the end result of the _Great Plan_ or the _Ineffable Plan,_ or whatever bloody, sodding Plan, that they couldn't see what an amazing thing they had right in front of them." Crowley looked back at where Anathema and Ashley sat. "They didn't ask for Free Will. I was there in Eden. God stuck a lolli in front of a couple toddlers and told them not to touch it." He glared spitefully heavenward. "What kind of 'loving' being does that? She's more of a temptress than I ever was."

" _Crowley,_ " Aziraphale hissed, eyes trained nervously at a point somewhere beyond the ceiling. "You mustn't talk about the Almighty like that."

"Why, Aziraphale?" Crowley snapped. "Because She's _listening?_ You're an idiot if you believe that. She doesn't listen anymore. At least not to me. Not to us." He gestured between himself and Raim. "Not since we were cast out.”

He stalked over to where Aziraphale stood and his voice pitched mockingly. “Hey, Anathema, in case you want to add a couple more bullet points to your list of notes on demons, not only do we apparently not love, we don't _feel_ love either. At least not Hers. She ripped every bit of Herself out of us when she threw us down to Hell."

Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak, but it just hung there as he stared up into where Crowley’s glasses covered a yellow glare that hovered inches from his face. He snapped his jaw shut and pressed his lips in a thin line.

"We're unforgivable. Damned. Forsaken."

"Enough, Crowley,” the angel hissed. “I'm not going to sit here and listen to you talk about yourself like that."

"Why not? Because I'm not like that one? What's the difference between the two of us?” Crowley gestured at Raim. “This is what you signed up for, angel. _You_ chose me. I didn't make you do that. I didn't _tempt_ you." His glare flicked upward for a moment before settling back on Aziraphale. “There’s only one Person who knew we’d both be in the garden that day. Maybe try being angry at Her, for a change.”

Anathema held up a finger to interrupt again. "Hey, uh, Crowley?"

Crowley's head jerked around. _"What?"_ he shouted.

Anathema recoiled and Ashley’s arm moved protectively in front of her. 

Crowley’s shoulders dropped as he chewed the inside of his cheek. “Sorry,” he grumbled.

Anathema cleared her throat. She'd been watching his aura redden and spike, like solar flares erupting off an angry sun. "I think we've been stuck in this room with" -- she nodded toward Raim -- " _that_ too long. It's doing something to you."

Crowley looked down at his hands and then back at Raim. A smile bloomed across his face. "You cheeky bastard." 

Raim's eyes were shooting daggers, and it made a move to speak when Crowley snapped his fingers, freezing the other demon entirely again. Crowley turned back to Anathema, bright smile still slapped on his face. "Good catch, Book Girl. I'm surprised I missed it."

Aziraphale looked back and forth between Anathema and Crowley, confused. 

Crowley beamed at him. "Spreading unrest. Classic demon move." He chuckled. "Anyway, Anathema, you and Ashley should really get out of here. Aziraphale and I can figure out what to do with your third wheel." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the frozen demon. "I really don't think it’s going to answer anymore of your questions. Seem like it’d rather just be rude until I agree to tell it how I escaped Hell."

"...But how did you?" Anathema asked. 

Crowley looked at Aziraphale. "Friends in high places." The angel blushed. "We need to get Raim out of here, though. Without alerting Upstairs or Downstairs."

"Why can't we just send it back to Hell?" Aziraphale asked.

"How exactly would we do that, angel? Discorporate it?" Crowley looked around the room, wondering which fixture would make the most efficient weapon. "Anathema, you don't by any chance happen to have a large knife in your purse, do you?" Crowley regarded the demon's thick, oozing form. "Or a lighter."

Ashley, who’d been mostly silent up until this point, sucked in a horrified breath.

"I'm joking." Crowley tapped his chin and eyed Aziraphale up and down. "You could smite it. Or bless some of the water from the tap."

Aziraphale went pale. "W-what? Me? You want me to... to..." he stuttered. As much as he didn’t like this new demon, he wasn’t sure it deserved to be reduced to a cloud of vapor and screams.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Ok, so discorporation and extinction are both off the menu. Then I suppose you want me to march down to Lord Beelzebub, hauling this disgusting blob behind me? And I'd say what, exactly? 'Here you go, Beelz! Been a while. Sorry again about almost causing a riot. Real pity you had to annihilate a room full of demons.'" 

Aziraphale sighed. "No need to be so cross, dear," the angel murmured. He sank into the mattress on the other side of Anathema. "Maybe we could just talk to it. Reason with it." He smiled, his eyes twinkling just a bit. "You're very clever with words."

Crowley blushed and stammered. "Ngk." He snapped his fingers and the demon's head unfroze again.

"You're going to pay for this, traitor," Raim spat. "I'm going to make you watch while I suck the marrow out of their bones."

"Sure, sounds lovely. But first, I just wanted to check in and see what it would take for you to leave us alone and never come back."

"You'd have to kill me." 

"Right. Ok, then." He turned to Aziraphale. "Angel, would you fetch me a glass of water from the other room? And bless it ‘till it’s good and holy, if you don’t mind.”

Raims murky eyes shot open wide. "You wouldn't."

Crowley flared up dangerously. “Oh I would. And I have. I turned Duke Ligur into a steaming pile of filthy clothes then asked an angel from Heaven to help me clean the mess off my floor." He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. "God's Ineffable Plan is the only reason I'm still standing here now. There's nothing I can tell you that would bring your sister back."

The group wasn't sure if they saw tears forming in Raim's eyes milky eyes, or if its face was just oozing more now. Then it sniffed. And then it cried. Rather, it wasn't so much a cry as an inhuman wail, racked with an animalistic desperation that was impressive given the fact that it didn't have control over 90% of its body.

"Alright, I've had about enough of this." Crowley snapped his fingers, and Raim dropped to the ground, shocked into silence by its sudden ability to move. Crowley stood over it's grey, slick body. "You're not as strong as me. You're certainly not as strong as an angel. Shit, I think the two humans could take you right now." 

"So, with that in mind," Aziraphale said, stepping forward to stand next to Crowley, "I think you'd better nip back off to Hell and find some new friends to plot Beelzebub's overthrow with." He punctuated the statement with an assured nod. 

"You're just... letting me go?" Raim stood slowly, gloom swimming in milky eyes.

"Eeeh, don't see why not," Crowley shrugged. "We know your name and what you want. Not to mention, you just pissed off the only demon in history that survived a holy water execution, the former Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, and the descendent of Agnes Nutter." Crowley's eyes glinted dangerously behind his sunglasses. "Might be wise for you to stay out of our way."

"Come on, my dears," Aziraphale said, turning toward Anathema and Ashley. "I think it's best we get you out of this room for the night." He snapped his fingers, and Ashley's bags from the luggage rack suddenly stood at attention, fully packed and zipped. "I'll get us back to the bookshop. Crowley, dear, we'll see you shortly?"

"Sure thing, angel." Crowley muttered, not taking his eyes off Raim.

Anathema was about to protest when she felt all of the fight leave her body and a deep exhaustion settle over her. She scooped her phone up off the floor and stood behind Ashley, hands resting gently on the arms to guide her out the door. The angel followed behind, tugging two suitcases along. He paused at the door and turned back to Crowley. "Be careful, love."

Raim unleashed a gurgling hiss at the door as it closed.

"I said I've had enough of that," Crowley said darkly. "I'm serious when I say I don't ever want to see you again. If you bother me, the angel, or the humans, I will kill you myself. Understood?" 

He wasn’t much up for killing, but he knew he sounded convincing by the way Raim bared its dirty teeth and slunk cautiously around him toward the bed. "I need to know how you came back from the holy water, and then I'm gone."

Crowley groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Listen, I didn't ' _come back'_ from it. It..." he paused, wondering how best to sound believable without giving the whole trick away. The Magician's Oath was the only bit about human magic that Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves in agreement on. "It was like it didn't even touch me. If your friend came in contact with it and died, then it's too late."

Raim slumped back onto the mattress. "Then there's no point. You should just kill me now."

"Would love to, Raim. Really would." He rubbed the back of his neck and stretched. "But the angel gets a bit tetchy when I come home late. You know how it is." Crowley ambled over to the nightstand and snatched up the plastic phone from the receiver, then looked at his watch.

"I can't believe you, traipsing around with an angel and some pathetic humans. How can you live like this?"

"Do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life," Crowley said absently, still eyeing his watch and knowing full well that particular saying was a demonic creation intended to make humans worry whether or not they were truly fulfilled. It wasn’t Crowley’s fault that the metaphor applied to him in a very literal sense. "You don't like Hell, Heaven, or Earth? Then go find something or somewhere you _do_ like, and leave me alone."

Raim shifted on the bed, leaving an oily stain where its skin made contact with the comforter. "But there is nowhere else," it said quietly, almost like a question.

Crowley sighed and muttered something that sounded like "no blessed imagination." He shot Raim a weary look. "It's a big universe. Lots of galaxies. Lots of planets. Lots of places to hide. Lots of people to meet." He glanced back at his watch, nodded, and punched a number into the phone. "Good luck." He faked a cheery wave and vanished just as the line began to ring.


	7. Chapter 7

When it came down to it, the human brain was the key to God’s Great Plan. The carefully crafted bundle of nerves and fibers and vessels contained all the bits and bobbles required to let humans exercise their free will and make all sorts of gloriously good, bad, and morally dubious decisions. 

Like with most important things, the Almighty decided, for _whatever_ reason, to position the vital, mushy lump at a very precarious point in the human body[1]. While the heart gets to sit in a cozy cage of hard bone, with plenty of other gooey bits surrounding it for padding, the cerebrum sits perched like a lollipop wrapped in polyethylene, balanced at the end of a paper stick.

Along with having quite a delicate and physically vulnerable exterior, the internal wiring isn't particularly hardy either. Mercifully, the original designs at least included a failsafe for when the enclosing human encountered something that would otherwise cause it to short circuit [2]. Rather than overwhelming the entire system, processing power is diverted toward more essential functions like running, fighting, or planning an escape. This means that very little work goes into understanding the source of the terror, which results in a messy jumble of sensations and memory snippets getting shuffled to the amygdala for safekeeping until they can later be signed, dated, and filed neatly away.

Angels that were privy to the ins-and-outs of human design in the early stages praised the ingenuity. Humans were a little less gracious and referred to the mechanism as “trauma response.”

It was the reason a woman could witness a furious Archangel take turns yelling at a young boy with a furious Prince of Hell and only think to say “Weren’t they odd?” And it was the reason another woman could sit in a dusty bookshop having just been held against her will by a demon and only think to say “Fine, thanks,” when asked how she was feeling, even as flashbacks ricocheted like marbles around her head, occasionally hitting a sensitive spot that caused her to wince. For the most part, Ashley put on a brave face as she sat pressed up against Anathema on an old couch, draped in a wool blanket, listening as she and Aziraphale re-explained some of the business about angels and demons in as little detail as possible.

Both women were fuzzily aware of taking a taxi back with Aziraphale, but Anathema was fairly certain the angel had just miracled the three of them there. Not that she was upset. She also wasn’t sure when the steaming mugs of tea had appeared in their hands, but she took an appreciative sip and let the heat soothe away the ache in her throat. 

"Ana,” Ashley said finally, “The other one… Crowley... he said he met you at the 'end of the world.' What did he mean?"

The antique phone in the other room chirped for attention before she had to answer.

"Oh, I'll just be a second," Aziraphale said as he hurried to the front of the shop, prepared to take his sweet time telling a potential customer that the shop, was, in fact, closed.

Mercifully, Anathema wasn’t afforded too much time to squirm under Ashley’s gaze; an alarmed shout and a loud _thud_ cut off Aziraphale’s “Hello, I’m afraid we’re-”, making them both jolt.

Anathema was halfway out of her seat when she heard Crowley cackling. She relaxed back into the couch cushions with a sigh.

"Oh, _really_ , Crowley? That was _quite_ unnecessary. You could've just taken a cab." There was a bit of shuffling. "If this shirt is ruined, I will never forgive you."

"Shirt's fine, angel. And why would I take a cab? ‘S way more efficient this way."

Footsteps marched back to where Anathema and Ashley were sitting.

"Hey, Crowley.” The witch could only muster a feeble wave.

"Book Girl,” he nodded with a smile. "What a night."

"Is it gone? Did you kill it?"

"It won't bother you again," he said solemnly, and he nodded at toward Ashley. "Either of you."

"Thank you," she said.

Crowley rubbed the back of his neck. "Angel, unless this tea has Scotch in it, you need to get a move on and fix me a drink."

"A 'please' would be nice," Aziraphale huffed, adjusting his bowtie.

"Oh, is that something demons do now? They say 'please'? Hard to keep track, I only just learned we're heartless monsters that don't believe in anything."

"And that’s our cue,” Anathema grumbled, reaching for Ashley's hand to lead her to the stairs. "We'll let you two talk. Aziraphale, could I bother you for an extra bed upstairs? And I'd love a set of pajamas."

Aziraphale forced a thin smile, snapped his fingers, wished the women goodnight, and watched as they climbed the stairs.

Crowley waited until they were out of sight and unleashed his own retaliatory finger snap.

Aziraphale frowned. "What was that?"

"Two beds, one bed: who can tell the difference?" he said with a smirk.

Aziraphale _tsk_ ed and began gathering abandoned mugs to take back to the kitchen. Then he gave Crowley a withering look and snapped his fingers again

The demon scowled. 

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is that too much _lust_ for your precious bookshop? ‘Fraid I don’t know any better." Crowley snapped again, canceling out Aziraphale’s miracle for the second time.

They glared at each other in a silent battle of wills until Anathema hollered something from the bedroom, and Crowley sighed and let Aziraphale arrange the room to his liking.

"Crowley, I admitted that I made a mistake. You have every right to be upset with me, but I think I'd prefer to talk about it in earnest rather than continue with whatever _this_ is." Aziraphale gestured around the room, as if the bickering was leaving a mess.

Crowley’s scowl deepened. "Is that why you think I haven't said it to you?" he asked. "Because I'm not an angel anymore, you think I don't know how?"

Aziraphale softened. "Of course not, Crowley. I just assumed you would in your own time."

_In my own time,_ Crowley thought, anger boiling over. “So now I’m going _too slow_ for you?” the demon spat.

The angel's eyes narrowed. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Crowley.”

“They were _your words,_ angel.”

“Then don’t twist what I said to keep finding excuses to be mad at me!”

“Oh, is that what you think?” Crowley shouted. “That I’m looking for excuses to be mad at you? Because God knows I couldn’t possibly have any _legitimate_ reason to be mad at you.”

“Fine!” Aziraphale’s voice raised to match. “You’re mad at me! What do I need to do, beyond apologizing _profusely_ , to make you _not_ mad at me?”

“Maybe you could start with a _profuse_ apology, because all I seem to remember is a quick, ‘So sorry! What was I thinking? Won't happen again! Carry on! Pip pip!’” he said in a mocking singsong. “And if that’s all it’s supposed to take, then maybe you’re right. Maybe demons are beneath you, because I sure as Heaven am not about to take a page out of your book on forgiveness.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went from ice to stone. “You couldn’t if you wanted to.”

The words backhanded Crowley across the face hard enough that he took a step backwards. The pair stood still, staring each other down in silence until the demon shifted slightly as if he had deflated. 

“Right.” He looked at his feet. “Part of the job description.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and started to walk to the door. When he heard Aziraphale’s footsteps running up behind him, he didn’t slow. And when the angel’s hand reached out to grab his arm, he jerked it away.

“Crowley, please. Don’t leave,” Aziraphale said, all the hardness melted out of him.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he hissed, eyes focused on the exit as he marched toward the front of the shop.

“Because I love you, you idiot, and this is _not_ how I wanted this conversation to end.”

A second later Crowley’s face was planted in a threadbare rug because, just like anytime Aziraphale said _that_ word nowadays, his entire body would skip and jolt like a dusty record. Tripping and falling face-first onto the floor was perhaps a tad dramatic, but these clumsy human-ish bodies had so many design flaws to begin with, and Aziraphale had never surrounded _that_ word with those two _other_ words in Crowley’s presence before, so he really didn’t think he could blame himself.

_Intelligent design, my ass,_ he thought as he shoved himself to his feet. He tried to give the flush in his cheeks some time to flare down by slowly dusting himself off before eventually turning around to look at the angel, who was frozen in place two steps away, save for a wobbling lip and anxious, twisting hands. 

“I’m sorry, I thought you knew,” he said quietly.

“You thought..?” Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed through his teeth. “Of _course_ I know. You’ve referred to me as ‘love’ twenty-three times in the last 13 days. Which is exactly twenty-three more times than you have in the last 6000 years. You’re not being subtle.”

Aziraphale looked down at his hands and twisted the ring on his finger. “Do you want me to stop?” His voice was low and sad.

“Of course I don’t!” he cried out, then immediately shrank back and shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s just… I dunno… a lot?”

When he looked up again, Aziraphale was watching him. Finally, the angel took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders.

“Why don’t I fix you that drink, dear?”

* * *

1. Crowley had asked about this at one point, but the Almighty just smiled like She was keeping a secret and continued on Her way.

2. Like being chased by a bear. Or being involved in a demonic abduction.


	8. Chapter 8

Anathema and Ashley watched in exasperated confusion as Aziraphale’s guest room took it’s time deciding if it was supposed to contain one or two beds.

With a sigh, Anathema leaned back out the door and shouted down the hall, “For God’s sake, Crowley, let Aziraphale do it!”

After a pause and some hushed, angry murmurs downstairs, they heard one final sound of snapping fingers, and two neatly done-up beds sat in the room. Both had plush tartan bedspreads, one had a luggage rack at the foot holding Ashley’s suitcase, and the other had a pair of pajamas sitting on top, neatly folded.

“Sorry about them,” Anathema sighed as she walked back into the room. “They’re like an old married couple.”

The look on Ashley’s face was was not inspiring confidence.

“A _really weird,_ old, married couple,” Anathema admitted.

“I feel like I have so many questions, but my brain can’t settle on which one to start with,” Ashley said with a nervous laugh.

Anathema smiled. “You get used to that.” There was a long pause as Anathema waited for her to say something else, but Ashley’s face was drawn and tired. 

“Do you want to just go to bed, then? You’ll probably feel a lot better after a good night’s sleep.”

Ashley’s mouth turned up into an uneasy half-smile, and her eyes darted around the room.

“Don’t worry,” Anathema comforted. “This is the safest place in London.”

* * *

As Ashley was getting ready for bed in the adjoining bathroom, Anathema let out a sigh and walked glumly over to the bed meant for her. _Some date,_ she thought as she reached for the pajamas. She’d remembered seeing them folded on the bed as they always had been when she stayed the night in the bookshop — a two-piece tartan, flannel set — but when she went to pick them up, she found herself holding some very lacy black lingerie.

She marched back into the hallway. “ _Crowley!”_

A cackle floated up from the lower level of the bookshop.

* * *

“Can I ask why you really came to England?”

They’d been lying silently in their separate beds, neither woman prepared to fall asleep despite how bone tired they felt.

Anathema drew a breath, held it for a moment, and willed the dam to break. The words flooded out of her with a surprising amount of force. Tales about everything: Agnes, the prophecies, losing the book in Crowley’s car, Newt, the Horsepeople, and how they were a hair’s breadth from a nuclear war that would’ve destroyed the world, and how the decision of one distinctly human child saved them all. She also talked about the aftermath: receiving — and subsequently burning — the second book of prophecies; breaking up with Newt upon realizing the only thing they had in common was a few sentences written about them hundreds of years prior; reaching out to Aziraphale when she had no one else to turn to; and slowly but surely befriending a demon who, aside from being fairly lousy at his job, was inexplicably the only being on the planet that seemed to understand what she was going through.

Ashley was lying on her side, watching Anathema through the darkness, interjecting with small questions now and again, but mostly just listening quietly.

“And now we’re here,” she said as the tale wound down, “having a sleepover at an angel’s bookshop because as much as Crowley tried to warn me in his own way, I didn’t listen when he said it was dangerous to be friends with him.” She sniffled pitifully. “I’m so sorry you got involved, Ash.”

Ashley propped herself up on her elbow. “Ana, you don’t need to apologize for any of this. It’s not your fault.”

Tears were dangerously close to spilling out of Anathema’s eyes, and she felt immensely grateful for how dark it was in the room. “It was though. You wouldn’t have even been here if it weren’t for me.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one that asked to come see you.”

The smile in her voice was obvious through the darkness. After everything Anathema had dragged Ashely into, she was still trying to be comforting, and that thought stabbed at Anathema’s heart. 

Taking in another breath, she waited until she was sure her voice would come out steady before bracing herself.

“I don’t think it was a coincidence that you reached out. I don’t even know if you coming to London was a coincidence.” She stared hard at the ceiling as she said it, but she could hear the shuffle of bed linens and knew Ashley had just sat up straight.

“You mean that… _thing_ had something to do with my trip?”

Anathema pressed her eyes closed. “Wrong demon.”

The penny dropped with a resounding thud in Ashley’s head. “Crowley?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Anathema nodded, then remember it was too dark for Ashley to see. The silence seemed to answer her question anyway.

“But… I mean… I didn’t… How though?”

No turning back now. “Remember how the other one said it’d gone through my notebook?” She waited for a response, and after a reasonable amount of silence, continued speaking anyway. “We trade stories. Crowley’s got about 6 millennia worth, so I write them down to keep track of them. I uh…” She could feel her face blushing hotly, and she swallowed around a dry lump that had taken residence in her throat. “I wanted to know how he’d met Aziraphale, and we’d been drinking, and I… I told him about about you. About what happened.” 

As the first few tears slid down the side of her face, Anathema couldn’t be sure if they were from embarrassment or the leftover hurt at having been unceremoniously dumped by the first woman she ever fell in love with. “I’m sorry, it was so stupid. I shouldn’t have done it.” She turned on her side to peer at Ashley through the dark. “Crowley didn't mean for any of this to happen. He was worried about me and didn’t want me to be lonely.”

“But it couldn’t have been him,” Ashely asserted, puzzling over this new admission. “My company booked these tickets for me months ago.”

“The night before you emailed me, did you have any bad dreams?” Then, more softly, “About me?”

The way this night was going, Ashley could probably get rich off dropping pennies.

“You’re joking.” She didn’t sound mad, just astounded. Almost as if she found the suggestion funny. 

That was promising at least.

“I told you he could be a little much. I should’ve never responded to your email though. I should’ve known better.” Another few tears rolled down and landed softly on the pillow. “I didn’t want some sneaky, demonic intervention to be the only reason you wanted to see me.”

Her voice wavered toward the end, and she buried her face in her pillow and tried to still her shaking shoulders.

“Oh, Ana.” Ashley pulled herself out of bed and walked over to where Anathema lay trembling quietly through tears and reached out to touch her shoulder. 

The other woman pulled away.

“I’m so sorry, I know you must hate me. This is all my fault,” she cried, voice muffled by soft cotton and down feathers.

Then she felt the comforter pull back slightly and Ashley slipped into bed next to her, warm and gentle, and wrapped her in a hug that could’ve rivaled one of Aziraphale’s for comfort.

“Ana, I could never hate you. If anything, I thought _you_ hated _me._ I was terrible to you.” She nuzzled into Anathema’s dark hair. “Do you know what my dreams were about that night?”

Anathema looked up from the pillow slowly and shook her head.

“Your friend must be persistent, because I had the same dream three times: I kept calling you to apologize for what I did and all those awful things I said to you, and you wouldn’t answer your phone. Somehow I knew it was because you were with someone else, and I was too late.”

A cloud must have passed by the moon, because pale light slowly pooled around them, reflecting bright and grey in Ashley’s eyes. Anathema stared into them. 

“Hon, I think about you constantly, but I never did anything about it. If anything, I should be grateful for getting the kick in the ass I needed. I really did owe you an apology.”

In all the times Anathema imagined this conversation, she was never at risk of falling asleep. But even as the words shuffled around her brain, pinging off thoughts of _oh my god, this can’t be real,_ her eyes involuntarily lidded as Ashley rubbed her back in smooth, slow circles over her flannel pajamas.

“It was all bullshit, too. I was scared. Not that that’s an excuse, but I want you to know the truth. I wasn’t planning on getting back with fucking _Derick._ I mean, come on.” Ashley smiled when Anathema giggled sleepily. “I didn’t know what my family would think. Or your family for the matter. It just felt like too much.” 

Anathema murmured something sleepy and incoherent, and Ashley kissed the top of her head. 

“Is it too late to ask for a bigger bed?” She asked with a half-serious, sleepy drawl.

“Mmf,” was all Anathema could manage. She scooted a bit closer, wrapped her arms around Ashley so they were pressed tightly together.

They slept soundly, enveloped in a solid blackness, without a single dream to disturb them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been written for ages, I'm just really procrastinating on the editting. Final chapter and a lil' epilogue will be coming soon.


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning, Anathema woke to sunlight spilling through the window, lighting up Ashley’s hair from behind as she snored quietly into the pillow they’d shared. As quietly as she could, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and plodded barefoot out into the hall, closing the door gently behind her so as not to disturb anyone. Peeking through the next door over, she noticed Aziraphale’s room looked as if neither angel nor demon had retired there the previous night. She took the stairs down, wincing as each footfall made the steps creak.

Finally reaching the bottom of the stairs, she tiptoed into the main area of the shop to find Aziraphale.

He looked up from his book when he saw her head poke out from around a shelf and smiled warmly, lifting a finger to his lips indicating she should try to keep quiet. The floorboards stopped their plantative screams. She smiled when she saw the pile of limbs that was Crowley curled around the angel, snores muffled from where his face was smushed in Aziraphale’s waistcoat. He looked like he could sleep that way for another century.

Anathema mimed sipping a mug of tea, prompting Aziraphale to nod emphatically. 

She smiled again, and headed back up the stairs to where the small kitchen was located and put a kettle on.

Just as it began to whistle, a soft “good morning” made her turn around. Ashley was standing in the hallway, looking into the kitchen as she combed her fingers through her messy hair. She was still in her pajamas.

“Good morning to you too,” Anathema said warmly. “You can sleep a while longer if you need. There’s no rush.”

Ashley yawned and stretched. “Well, once I noticed you were up…” She lifted her shoulders slightly and let them drop, then looked around the small kitchen. “This place is wild. You know that right?”

Anathema giggled. “Yeah, Aziraphale opened this shop in 1800. Help me carry the tea down, and I’ll show you around the first floor. Just don’t get your heart set on any books. He rarely sells them.”

* * *

Mugs jingled on saucers as the two women made their way downstairs with the tray of tea. 

“Good morning, Ashley!” Aziraphale was still reading on the couch, but Crowley was nowhere to be seen. “I hope you slept alright. Was the bed comfortable?”

Ashley grinned bashfully. “Best sleep I’ve had in awhile.”

“Ah, marvelous!” Aziraphale’s smile was beatific. “Crowley just went out to fetch some breakfast. I wasn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for, so he’s getting a spread.”

“Oh, you didn’t need to go through the trouble.”

Aziraphale waved her concern away. “No trouble at all. We owe you at least as much.” He set his book down to reach for a mug of tea as Anathema set the tray down on the table in front of him. He closed his eyes and sniffed at the steam rising out of the mug. “This smells heavenly. Thank you, my dear.” He took a sip, then returned his gaze to the women as they sat in the cushy armchairs in front of him. “Now, I want you both to take as much time as you need today. The shop will remain closed, so there’s no need to worry about that. I assume a restful, relaxing morning is just what you need.”

Anathema yawned and nodded, sipping her own tea. She reached over and squeezed Ashley’s hand, coaxing another smile out of her. “Did you and Crowley have a good chat, Aziraphale?”

The angel’s hand fluttered through the air, the way she’d seen Crowley’s do countless times. “I think we’ve cleared the air, as it were.”

Anathema arched an eyebrow and sipped her tea, waiting for him to elaborate, but Azirapahle just smiled placidly. Ashley watched the staring contest continue for another minute, curious to see whose resolve would break first, when the bell on the door of the shop sounded out, causing everyone to jump.

“Angel, ‘m back!” Crowley called out from the front. “The blessed creperie you like wasn’t open, so you’ll have to settle with your second favorite.”

Ashley hopped up from her chair, squeezing Anathema’s hand once more before letting go. “I’ll go help him.” And she disappeared to the front. 

Anathema turned back to Aziraphale, whose face was now plastered with a smile that was both annoying and knowing.

“So the two of you had a good night, as well?” 

Anathema tried to stifle a blush as Ashley and Crowley made their way to the back with armfuls of carryout bags.

“Thank you for the help, _Ashley,_ ” Crowley said pointedly, shooting Aziraphale and Anathema a look. “Don’t mind us. Just need to haul in the 50 different food requests this glutton ordered.” He jerked his chin to the left, indicating Aziraphale. “Ashley, what they don’t tell you in Sunday school is that angels are the true masters of the seven deadly sins.”

“ _All_ seven, my dear?” Aziraphale countered with a smirk.

Crowley’s tongue tripped over a few syllables and Anathema choked out some tea through a laugh.

* * *

“Oh, is _this_ what they were talking about in that queen song?” Crowley called from the back room. He popped his head out, holding a champagne bottle by the neck. “How ‘bout this one, angel?”

“Crowley, that bottle of champagne is over 90 years old, you are _not_ going to mix it with orange juice!”

“Guess I’m drinking it straight then!”

When Aziraphale scuttled off to supervise Crowley’s alcohol selection, Anathema reached into her bag and pulled out her notebook. She placed it in Ashley’s hands and tapped the cover. “Moët & Chandon. 1911. Page 17.”

Despite the lack of mimosas, the food — a variety of crepes, muffins, coffee cake, sausage, cured meats — was delicious, and fed them straight down to their souls.

“Angel, I really don’t think you understand how much humans actually eat,” Crowley said, lazily sipping a coffee as he watched Anathema settle back into their chairs after stuffing their faces as much as they could.

“Nothing wrong with leftovers,” Ashley said with a sleepy, stuffed grin. Aziraphale beamed at her, and she turned back to Crowley. “Thanks for bringing all of this back. It’s just what we needed.”

Crowley nodded and sipped, and even though his sunglasses were on, Anathema didn’t miss how his eyes turned to Aziraphale, who beamed at him. They both rather liked this new human. 

Well, all three of them did.

* * *

“Y’sure you don’t want a ride?” Crowley asked half-heartedly. He’d been sitting on the couch, thigh pressed up against Aziraphale’s, and didn’t look like he intended to move unless bodily forced.

“We’re not going far,” Anathema said. “Besides, it’s hard to pass up walking in this _miraculously_ nice weather.”

Ashley’s eyebrows furrowed as Anathema lead her to the door. “Wait, can they…?”

“Don’t dwell on it,” she said. “Goodbye, you two. Maybe we’ll see you for dinner later?”

“Oh, no, we wouldn’t want to intrude,” Aziraphale said, although a slight pout made it obvious that he was sad they were leaving.

Crowley rested his hand on the angel’s knee. “Just text me, Book Girl. There’ll be an open table wherever you’d like.”

“They text..?” But Ashley was already being pushed out the door. She planted her feet just in time to turn back to the pair on the couch. “Thank you for everything. Really. This has been a hell of a vacation, that’s for sure.”

Crowley visibly softened and gave her a small wave.

“We’ll text you,” Anathema promised, and tugged Ashley out the door by the arm.

After they’d left, Crowley flopped down onto his back and let his head rest in Azirphale’s lap. The angel looked down at him fondly and carefully took the arms of his sunglasses with his finger tips to lift them away from the demon’s face. He set them aside on the end table to his right.

“There you are,” he said, angelic fondness rolling off of him and making Crowley blush.

“Here I am,” the demon responded quietly. He cleared his throat after a moment. “I like the new one,” he said stupidly.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile. “I like her too. I suppose I should say you did a good job of ‘reaching out.’”

Crowley scrunched his face. “I already told you, I hardly did anything.”

“Of course.” And then Aziraphale’s hands were running through his hair, tugging gently through knots, and turning Crowley’s bones to jelly. “How long do you think we have until they reach out about dinner?”

“Few hours, I’d think,” he answered, leaning into the hand that was scratching pleasantly across his scalp. A beat passed and Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “Why d’you ask?”

Aziraphale continued combing his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “Well, the weather _is_ unseasonably warm.”

Crowley smiled languidly. “Fancy a walk in the park, angel?”

“That sounds lovely.”


	10. Epilogue

“So, you snogged her, then, eh?” Crowley sipped his coffee smugly.

It had been about half a day since she'd left Ashley at the airport, and Anathema was honestly surprised it'd taken Crowley that long to start needling for gossip.

“Not that I would ever kiss and tell, but _no,_ ” Anathema sighed. She swirled her own mug of coffee around, then looked up at Crowley through her eyelashes. “What about you? Make a move yet?”

Crowley picked up a small silver spoon and tapped the edge of his saucer. “You know how I used to call him ‘angel’?”

Anathema frowned. “You still call him that.”

Crowley sat the spoon back down. “Well, before it was because he, y’know, is an actual angel. Literally. But now…”

“You’re treating it like a pet name.”

“Exactly.”

Anathema watched him, her lips twisting into a smile as she tried to hold back a snicker. “Do you think he can tell the difference?”

Based on Crowley's expression, he hadn't considered that. “Erh…”

Anathema barked out a laugh before flinging her hand over her mouth with a sympathetic blush. Crowley glared at her, then sighed and picked up the spoon again, tapping it annoyedly against the table. A _ding_ sounded from inside Anathema’s bag, and she made an apologetic noise before fishing around for her phone.

Crowley watched a slow smile spread across her face as she typed a response.

“Sorry, that was Ashley,” Anathema said, scrunching her face to force the blush back down and pointedly ignoring Crowley’s smirk. “She just wanted me to know she just got back home.” She turned her phone over in her hand absently.

Crowley leaned forward in his seat. “You miss her?”

Anathema didn’t look up from where she was fiddling with the phone and shrugged.

“You’ll see her again soon though, yeah?”

She smiled. “I hope so.”


End file.
